Tangled
by arhi
Summary: Dean never expected to own a house. (AU disregarding 5.22 and any sort of plan that would involve Sam being in hell - this is happy!fic, damn it)


Dean never really expected to own a house. It's just never been his thing. Sure, living with Lisa in Cicero was great (and it might be a stretch to call it that, might not), but that was still her house.

When he got Sam back, it was entirely expected that they were back to living out of motels and generic diners. In fact, Dean was kind of looking forward to it. It's nice to have breakfast without a hint of non-brotherly guilt. There's Winchester guilt... and then there's feeling terrible because the girl you spent a weekend with has let you live with her for (a week, a month, a year) a while and still hasn't complained. So, standard Winchester guilt is great, but Lisa-guilt tastes terrible with scrambled eggs and sausage.

It was a hunt up in Montana when Cas showed up. It'd been... well, a really long time since they'd seen him. Dean had sent a prayer - and it feels weird to him still to talk about prayer like it's a celestial text message - when he'd made it to Lisa's. _Castiel - Cas, I made it. You know where I'll be if you need me._ And yeah, after driving halfway across the continental US, Dean had kind of hoped that the angel would show up for a legitimate farewell (_because Cas learned how to feel guilty from the best of them, and wouldn't bother Dean unless there was no other option - and maybe not even then)_, but considering that Dean had never really given him a 'goodbye' before either, he may not have known how those even worked. It was a nice excuse. The previously cool air in the Impala had been warmer, though, if only for a moment. Dean takes it as a sign that he was heard despite any proof otherwise.

So, it's been since that car ride before all hell unbroke loose that Dean has seen him. Dean and Sam are laying up in a (standard, terribly decorated) motel for the afternoon with some research texts when there's bright light outside their window, a sound not unlike the start of a great migration of birds, and a knock at their door.

Dean, closest to the door (always closest), is halfway across the space between his bed and the nearest wall - is halfway to banishing whatever angel had brought on that telltale light - when Sam stops him.

"Dean. What if it's Cas?"

Dean wants to set his mouth in a firm line and draw the sigil anyway, but something about the way Sam's voice sounds... Well, his baby brother inherited all the emotions anyway, maybe he's been missing the agitation brought on by the standard issue Angel of the Lord (batteries inside!)

He shakes his head, turns his left hand into a fist to staunch the bleeding a bit, and pulls the angel killing knife out of the open duffle on the dining room/kitchen/living room table on his way to the door. "Fine, Sammy. But if it ain't, well. I told you so."

Sam's dug out his own angel-issued blade and is flanking him at the door by the time he actually opens it. His hand leaves a smear of red on the handle, and Dean wonders if Sam will bitch about it when he opens it later.

There's nothing standing in the doorway when they open it (_motel's too shitty for peep-holes. God we need a checklist for this shit._), but to the left of the doorway is a figure sitting in the floor. He's breathing, which is a relief in and of itself, but when he turns at the sound of the door and makes eye contact with Dean, well. It's a whole different ballpark.

Sam has dropped his knife on the table (nowhere to stick it in his pants; not like it's a switchblade) and is out in the hallway, helping the man to his feet before Dean can do anything. He feels stuck. Surely Sam didn't superglue the area in front of the door and stage this as a prank. Can superglue even affect muscles?

Dean manages to move out of the way as Sam hustles the man - no, Jimmy. Cas? - into the room. He manages to shut the door, but he still kind of feels like he's moving through butter (and not melted butter, because that stuff is slick enough to probably substitute as lube in a pinch. _probably._ though, if you have the time to melt butter, you probably have the time to go grab some from the store. where is his mind?)

"Cas, is that you?" Sam has a hand on the man's shoulder, and he flinches obviously at the touch before relaxing into it. It's kind of scary, considering the way the angel was all smooth concrete and the way Jimmy would probably still be able to recognize them.

"Yes, Sam." Not Jimmy then, because this voice is graveled in a way that makes Dean wonder if all angels end up tempering their vessel's vocal cords.

"What happened? What was that light?" Good ol' Sammy, researcher at heart, asking all the important questions. Dean finds himself moving to sit backwards in one of the dining room/whatever chairs, arms crossed.

"Recently, there has been... war in Heaven. Raphael's forces against mine. While my forces were significantly fewer, we managed to get enough of an upper hand in the latest battle. I defeated Raphael... but the wound I took in doing so was too grievous to live through. I am not sure what brought me here, but I am entertaining the notion that it was my Father."

"So you didn't just mojo yourself here? Because, defeating that colossal dick is an awesome thing, but I'm still not into sad stories." Dean didn't really intend to say it. Yeah, Raphael was an asshole, and Dean is at least a little bit glad that he's out of everyone's hair. Honestly (and Dean at least tries to be honest with himself now, now that he knows what happens when you repress and when you don't ever connect with your brother and when -), Dean is kind of happy to see Cas. At least one tiny corner of his brain always wondered what he was getting up to, playing sheriff in Heaven.

"I'm not sure I could mojo-" and here Castiel's voice cracks, which has probably never happened ever, judging by the face he makes "anywhere, if I wanted. This body feels as though it is without ailments... but I do not believe I have my grace. It was my wings that suffered the damage, and... To continue to live is worth that sacrifice if I am here." Cas is looking up, somewhere between painfully sincere and puppy-dog eyes (does he even know how to do those? does he even know the difference between a puppy and a dog? what if they are just "dogs" and "small dogs" to him?), and Dean can't manage the eye contact. He lifts himself out of his chair and goes to get a glass of water from the sink.

"So you're human now? And you want to stay with us?" It's easier to ask these questions with his back turned, Dean discovers. Hard questions are less hard without eye contact. What if Cas is human? What if he discovers he misses his Grace too much to handle? Dean doesn't ever want to see that cynical shell of a man from the future in real-time again.

"Yes, Dean."

"Alright, then. Drink up, and we'll go pick you up some stuff while we wait for night to fall." It almost feels too easy not to fight. Sam's looking at him like he's grown at least one extra head (if not two), and Cas's hands are cool when he takes the glass from Dean. He holds it extra tight like he's afraid it's going to all turn to water and slip between his fingers. Honestly (and Dean's still doing that honesty thing), it feels good to see Cas again, and he'd much rather have him with them - even if it comes to leaving him in the motel when they do go gravedigging - than to leave him with Bobby or to leave him out on his own.

"This is... cold."

"Yeah, buddy." Sam's still got that bewildered look on his face, but he's moving around bookmarking pages and closing up their research texts like he's excited to go shopping. Knowing how big of a girl he is... well, Dean wouldn't be surprised.

He watches Sam work at tidying up and finding his wallet while Cas drinks his water in his peripheral vision.

When they make it out of the motel, Cas looks overwhelmed, and Sam is talking about all the stops they need to make. Cas will need his own duffle, at least a couple of shirts and socks and pants and maybe a different pair of shoes because Jimmy's dress shoes aren't actually comfortable to anyone who has to wear them- Yeah. Overwhelmed. Dean's just kind of glad that he and Sam hadn't had to any Federal Bureau of Impersonating stuff for this case, because explaining to the lady at the Goodwill that their cousin's house burned down (two men shopping together looked weird enough. three is probably the magic number for that sort of side-eyeing suspicion) will be easier if they haven't already been wandering around in suits. It's a big town, but not that big.

"Alright Sammy. Do we need to get him nail polish and some curlers while we're at it?" and Sam splutters a little, punches him in the shoulder instead of pulling a bitchface.

"I'm just glad to see him, Dean. I know the situation sucks, but it could be worse."

"Yeah, well. He's not a Polly Pocket, and this is not a prep for the spa day over in Malibu Barbie-land."

"Dean, those don't even go together. Polly Pockets are like three inches tall, and Barbies are huge."

"Does it hurt your feelings when they say that Barbies are impossibly shaped, then, Sasquatch?"

Sam laughs and Cas looks up at the sky. Dean unlocks his baby.

Cas doesn't talk much on the way to the Goodwill - and by that, Dean means that he doesn't talk at all. Sam and Dean banter in the front seat all the way there, arguing about whether it'd be better to teach Cas to dress in hunter-esque layers sooner or later. Dean's absolutely opposed to it (anything to keep that vision of the future away. besides, the trenchcoat is basically Cas's symbol. he'd be naked without it, metaphorically. _only_ metaphorically.)

The shopping experience is largely uneventful. Dean doesn't even have to pull out his (not incredibly) carefully crafted story for the woman behind the counter. She just takes one look at the way Cas is looking around the place and rings them up with the smallest hint of a smile (maybe with a dash of pity, but in this place it probably runs out pretty quick.)

Dean's own stomach rumbles on the way back to the car, and they go through the drive-thru at a McDonalds (where Sam bitches about McDonald's salads and Cas lights up at the idea of a burger. or possibly the play area inside, but those things were always too twisty-complicated for Dean to ever appreciate. give him a slide or a swingset and he'd be good to go, man. nobody enjoys tunnels when they have to climb through one for real.)

When they get back to the motel, it's just starting to get dark out (the streetlamps strike weird shadows across the sunset-brightened sidewalks, and that's the worst part of the day - when it's not even dark out yet and everything that matters still thinks it is anyway.) It occurs then, when they get inside, that _oh right, hunt tonight_. It's not much of a hunt any way you slice it - just a salt-n-burn on the edge of town, but there is enough business around the cemetery during the day that it's good to wait until night-time anyway (and it feels weird to dig up graves in broad daylight. like, wrong-weird. seeing the flowers on the tombstones around the grave is unnerving when you're about to start a fire. plus, illegal.)

They plow through McDoubles and chocolate milkshakes (even Sam can't resist a chocolate milkshake. it's like actual condensed heaven, not to be confused with Condensed Heaven, just add angel!)

"Alright. So, Sam and I are going to head over to that cemetery and burn Nicole Grey's bones before she decides to take out anyone else wandering by her resting place, and you're going to stay here and watch quality informational television." Cas has been glancing at the television (switched to some "Antiques Roadshow" thing, like antiquing is something people actually do) anyway, and just because it's a salt and burn doesn't mean-

"No. I will... need to see how this is done."

"He kind of has a point, Dean. Plus, no one actually likes PBS. That's torture."

"Fine. But I'm not giving you a gun - you can have a knife and that's it. Not losing my head because you don't know how to handle one." Sam actually does pull a bitchface at that ('like it's his fault that he's newly human, Dean.', because there's a language to them), and Dean shrugs. "At least you're familiar with those, right?"

The salt and burn actually goes surprisingly fine. It's been a while since a salt and burn was _just_ that, and it makes Dean wonder if another shoe is about to drop.

It kind of does, when he switches off the bathroom with Sam after they get home and finds Cas asleep in his bed. The trench is on the back of one of the dining-whatever chairs and Jimmy's cheap suit is piled in the floor, but it looks like Cas is in some of the 'nightclothes' Sam insisted he have. Definitely Sam's fault then. And while Cas has never really known was personal space was (and Sam is a damned octopus when he sleeps, twice as bad as normal), well, Dean feels kind of weird crawling in bed next to a once-angel. Still, the alternative is sleeping in the not-comfortable-at-all chairs, and that's not an alternative at all. He slides in on the other side of the bed, back to Cas, and falls asleep.

In the morning, he wakes to find Cas no longer in the bed, but there is light peeking around the cracked bathroom door and it's not a big deduction, Watson. Especially not when Cas comes out holding Sam's bathroom bag (Dean is still too manly to call it a "toiletries bag", damn it.)

"Dean," Cas says, when he sees Dean looking at him. "Sam said that I would find things to clean my teeth with in here, but I cannot find a..." he makes a vague scrubbing motion.

"A toothbrush? Yeah, man, we bought you one yesterday and I guess we never opened it." Dean gets up to scrounge through the walmart bag of stuff they couldn't get at Goodwill on the dining-whatever table. "I'll open it anyway, these things are ridiculously packaged."

Dean's prying open the back of the toothbrush package (and seriously, why is stuff so hard to open anyway?) when he notices that Cas is fidgeting. He's wearing the white shirt that he wore to bed, but he's scratching his right arm in a way that seems a little too purposeful to be nervous habit.

"You alright, man?" He's handing over the toothbrush when he sees how red Cas's arm is. It looks like someone planted a little farm of red dots on his skin (though the farmer's ability to plant straight is to be questioned.)

"It... It is a discomfort, but I assume it is something to do with this body. I will be fine, Dean."

"Alright. Well, don't scratch it." And as he leaves Cas to return to the bathroom, Dean tries to figure out if they wandered through any weird plants last night.

By the time Dean comes out of the bathroom (after letting Cas brush his teeth, and then taking a shower), Sam is up and looking lively. Cas is peering at what looks like Clifford the Big Red Dog on the television, and who knew Saturday morning cartoons were still a thing?

"C'mon Sam, stop living vicariously through something smaller than you and hop in the shower. We've got places to be." Dean snarks over his shoulder as he turns away from the TV to return his stuff to his duffle.

"You're just jealous that no one produces stuff about incredibly average guys with green eyes, man," Sam returns, shouldering by and into the bathroom.

Sam doesn't take too long, and when they climb into the Impala (on their way to Idaho, home of the potato and not a lot else), Cas is out almost immediately in the back seat.

"Do you wonder if he's having too easy of a time, Dean?" Sam asks, looking at their passenger in the rear view mirror.

"Don't think anyone can ever have it _too_ easy with humanity, Sammy."

"You know what I mean, jerk."

"Yeah. I do kind of feel like there should be something looming overhead about it."

Turns out that something comes up the next morning.

It had been ridiculously hot in their motel room, and when Cas had seen Dean and Sam stripping of their shirts to get ready for bed, he had taken their cue. By the time everyone had turned in, they'd been sweaty enough for it to be unpleasant. Stupid... Idaho, and its stupid weather and broken air conditioners and... stupid.

Watching Cas's back shift as he pulled his shirt off hadn't been too bad of a consolation, though. Dean wasn't too concerned about the negativity of batting for his own team, though the general difficulty of finding male hookups when he and Sam lived the way they did was enough to put him off of it some. Women were fine - great, really - and it's not like Dean was hard-up for those. Watching Cas slide under the covers (beside him, at that), though, had Dean thinking. It's not like Cas wasn't attractive, but it also wasn't like Dean could just hit it and quit it. Not when Cas had, well. He'd done a lot. The full spectrum wasn't worth dwelling in, not when sleep was on the horizon and Dean wasn't thinking about pushing into his personal space. Really. He wasn't.

The next morning (after a night of seriously awesome sleep - sleep is great when you don't stress yourself out before, not thinking about intimacy and other five dollar relationship words), Cas was in the bathroom again when Dean woke up. Honestly (because Dean's still doing that honesty thing), Dean's hoping this isn't a thing. It's nice not to share shower shifts with him, but the bathroom light is annoying. (really. that's the reason. no other reason at all. on a side note, honesty might be difficult.)

He gets out of bed and sticks his head into the bathroom through the open door. When Cas meets his eyes in the mirror, he looks stressed.

"Dean." Dean breaks eye contact to look at the rest of Cas in the mirror. His chest is red where he slept on the sheets, and while his back isn't much better, the general idea is that he's suffering. Who knew that people actually couldn't exist in the same habitat as shitty motel laundry detergent? Or maybe it's the sheets, but it's still a problem. "Dean, I don't like this."

"I know man. Nobody likes itching. You're still not scratching though, right?" Cas makes a face like he knows he's being talked to like a child, but he still nods. Dean watches as he rubs a hand across his chest - the sigil he'd carved into his own skin is all scar now, and it's white where the rest of his skin is unnatural red.

"I won't have to sleep in the floor, will I? I imagine this body enjoys the bed more than it would the floor."

"Nah, man. We'll get you some calamine lotion on our way out; we're going to head to Bobby's and stuff you into a guest room until we find a good solution. Plus, haven't seen the old man in a while." Dean's feeling really devil-may-care (and wow, that is a terrible phrase) about the whole ordeal. He's blaming the early hour and the sheer idea of the once-angel having an allergic reaction to laundry detergent.

He leaves the bathroom and goes to wake Sam up at an hour long before anyone would actually like to be awake, but it's at least a fifteen hour drive to Sioux Falls and Dean would like to be there sometime before the end of time. (Preferably also before dinner, but y'know. it's dinner.)

They leave Nowhere, Idaho (that's made-up, but the town is forgettable, and it soon becomes "Nowhere" like everywhere else on the map) at 7 am. The fifteen hour trip is actually more like twelve with the way Dean drives, even though they stop for lunch at around noon. Cas sleeps in the backseat for most of the way, and Dean wonders if he'd been sleeping well in the motel beds at all, and just hadn't wanted to say anything.

They pull in at Bobby's at about 7pm - only half a day blown driving (though any time behind the wheel of his baby is not time wasted), and the look on Bobby's face when Cas climbs out of the back of the car looking sleepy and bedraggled reminds Dean that he'd forgotten to mention that new adjective for the third member of their party.

Bobby doesn't really ask any questions though, even though his eyes clearly demand answers from Dean. He leads them into the house where he's got dinner - simple (but guilt-free, mmm) prepared. They don't stay downstairs long - just long enough to do some basic catching up (they'll talk about Cas tomorrow. definitely tomorrow, because angels don't sleep and they sure don't eat mac-n-cheese), but dinner is delicious and it still feels easy. They're all seated around the table in Bobby's kitchen (a real table, not a dining-whatever table) and it's almost difficult to tear away to go to bed.

Not too difficult, though. They head to bed at a a pretty early hour, all things considered. There are only two usable bedrooms upstairs - Bobby's old master bedroom is still off limits, even though he got used to the one downstairs and stays down there most of the time. Cas follows Dean into his bedroom, and the look Sam gives him (considering there's a perfectly usable couch, Dean) gets a raised eyebrow in return. Dean brushes his teeth and changes in the bathroom that is shared between his room and Sam's, and when he comes back Cas is already beneath the sheets. Not having to share the bathroom with Cas - letting him go first, while Dean pretends to check over his things - it almost felt weird at first, but this way Dean doesn't have to try not to stare when Cas crawls into bed. It all makes sense, really.

This time, when Dean wakes up, Cas is still sleeping. He looks peaceful. Dean wonders if it is hard for him to sleep, to dream, when he never had to before. When Dean makes it downstairs, Bobby's already got a pot of coffee made and a newspaper spread over the table, phone pressed to his ear. By the time Bobby's off the phone, Dean's got his own cup of coffee and he kind of already knows what to say.

He explains about how they found Cas outside their motel room, almost gift-wrapped in his trenchcoat. He explains about how human he is now, and about how the motel life disagrees with him even though he tries to ignore it.

"Well, I'd say you've got two options. You can either wash your own sheets and cart them around like you're a Sears van, or you can wash your own sheets and settle down somewhere for a bit until he either gets over the allergy or you decide you like it." Dean can only really find it in himself to stare. He hates how that's been happening lately.

"His humanity isn't an issue with you?"

"You talked about it like it wasn't one, and you were always the one who treated him like he was only worth his mojo to you. If you aren't getting worked up over it and it ain't destructive, well." Bobby shrugs.

"Still. What do we do?"

"I'll make some calls. See what I can work out. God knows motels wouldn't take kindly if you petitioned them to use less terrible detergent."

Bobby finds Dean again later (under the Impala, just staring into her inner parts. she doesn't really _need_ an oil change, it's just that Dean needs something to do with his hands and that's easy) as he's trying to decide on what would make the best oil-drip pan. Cas is sitting on the porch, and Sam is inside (reading, probably.)

"I have a guy who owed me some favors. He's got a place in Humboldt if you want to stay there." Of course, Bobby says "you" and means "you, Sam, and your real boy". It doesn't hurt that Humboldt is only half an hour away. When Dean says he'll talk to Sam and Cas about it, Bobby's reply is a noncommittal grunt. He's walking back inside the house when Dean manages to work himself up to sliding out from under his baby.

Talking to Sam about it is easy. He's agreeable (and Dean's starting to wonder if the apocalypse mellowed everyone out.) Of course, it doesn't hurt that being close to Bobby means they can still do the organizational part of the hunt even if they aren't heading out of town every night.

Talking to Cas makes Sam seem even more agreeable. Dean says "I've found a house nearby," and Cas loses it.

"What part of I wanted to be close to you do you not understand? Dean - I can't have you going off on your own now, chancing getting hurt, if I am no longer able to fix you. I am not sure I could exist on this plane without you."

Dean feels like there's a lot more being said there than the words actually say, but his first words are just to assuage the raging beast that Cas turns into when he feels like he's being left behind. "Wasn't planning on leaving anybody. It'd be the three of us. We'd probably work with Bobby, pick up a day job or two in case all of us needed to go somewhere over the weekend." Cas breathes out like he wasn't just about to go nuclear. Dean's mind is still racing, though. Can people even have heart-wrenching fights when they aren't in relationships? The idea of Cas thinking he was going to get left behind has Dean feeling a little sick. Instead of retching over _words_ (and he's turning into Sammy, god, that's the reason), he says "we could be in there by today, if you want."

"Alright. I would not like to impose upon Bobby. He is a good man and we..."

"Get underfoot? Tell me about it." And then they're kind of joking around again (the way kindergartners do, but still) and everything feels better. Cas starts gathering up his things (not that he really leaves anything anywhere), and Dean goes to find Sam and Bobby, lets them know they'll be migrating again, today.

The house is nice. It isn't the nicest, and Dean doesn't feel like Stepford Wives are going to come out of the woodwork, but he likes it. They don't own a lot of things, and it's almost a blessing that the house has furniture in it. Sam seems to think it might be a lot better than that, considering his actual childlike delight when he found the bedroom off the hall to the left of the living room had a bed that could hold him. There's a bathroom across the hall from that bedroom, the kitchen is opened up into from the living room, and the master suite is down a hall from the right of the living room. It's got an ensuite bathroom, though, and Dean is starting to feel like this could be a really comfortable place.

They go out to a diner on the corner, just to get their faces out there so they don't seem like nonentities later (especially if they're going to be there a while... Not going out in public just makes you suspicious) and get a good look around the town. It's not too big, but there's a Sears in the distance and what looks like a McDonalds sign lighting up the air near it. Dean will go scope out the town tomorrow, maybe Wednesday. It's not too pressing, especially if Bobby felt it was safe enough.

They return to the house and go almost immediately to bed. There's no TV, no real knick-knacks from the previous owner (whoever the hell that was), but it's still homey even when it's dark outside. Dean is getting ready for bed when it occurs to him that in this place he and Cas will be sharing, too. Dean's getting (entirely) too old to sleep on a couch, and no one new to humanity needs to suffer that. He almost wonders if it's planned (not like anyone is planning for them anymore, that is actually ridiculous.)

Cas uses the bathroom after him this time, and while Dean listens to the water run, he thinks. He thinks about the way Cas got himself exploded for him more than once, how the will of God is basically that Cas be with him - with them - if Cas's initial moment of humanity is to go by. He thinks about how he messes up relationships - especially when he thinks about them - and wonders if it'd be possible. Cas doesn't seem to be much of a starer anymore (probably something to do with needing to blink), but Dean knows well enough that you don't need eye contact to sexually charge a relationship. Not all the time, anyway. He wonders if sexuality is all he wants from it. Considering his urge to touch Cas - just to touch him, not to seek some sexual end, he's going to guess that the answer to that one is a no. Wonders what it would be like to come up and tuck the tag into his shirt, brush his fingers over the back of Cas's neck without anyone feeling odd about it; what it'd be like to kiss over that skin he touched and feel Cas's skin goosebump with the sensation (because it will surely take him a while to get used to that human sensation thing, right?)

Dean definitely wants more than this already somewhat awkward friendship. Wants more than a fling. Unfortunately, he really does cock up relationships.

Cas comes back and turns out the light in the room before crawling into the bed, back to Dean. Dean rolls over onto his side, and they're curled away from each other like bookends when they fall asleep.

When Dean wakes up, it's another story. He's got his arms curled around Cas and his face is pressed into the nape of Cas's neck like it belongs there. He almost freezes up when he realizes it, but instead he slithers out of the bed like he's a little less solid than the average human and stumbles into the bathroom. Clearly his mind is on board even if he's a little nervous about it. His body's definitely into it, if his pulse and, well, other things, are what one goes by. He peers into the mirror in the dim light of morning and brushes his teeth in a daze. He doesn't even put on real clothes, just tugs on yesterday's jeans and stumbles out the door in the undershirt he slept in, boots hanging from one hand. He's got his keys in the other, and he's in the car with his shoes on and headed for that Sears before his mind has even really caught up.

He finds himself in the Bed and Bath section looking a little bit like a hobo at eight in the morning. There are... a lot of options. A perky saleswoman listens to his plight though, and when Dean leaves the store someone else's credit card is a little lighter (or whatever the phrase should be, it isn't a wallet) and the Impala looks a little like he bought the whole department.

He wanders back into the house and shoves his new possessions into the closet in the master bedroom after he checks that Cas is still sleeping - this is a surprise, after all. Then he makes breakfast. That gets both Sam and Cas out of bed pretty quick - Cas is apparently a fast learner when it comes to food. Toast and eggs aren't fancy, but it's good enough considering that this wasn't their house twenty-four hours ago.

They spend the day out in the town. Sam finds the library first thing and while it's not the biggest, any library is a haven for his brother - Dean knows this. So while Sam geeks out for a little while, Dean and Cas go grocery shopping. It's domestic and disturbingly difficult without a premade shopping list, but they manage alright. While Dean brings bags into the kitchen, Cas arranges the cabinets the way he wants, even though he can't do any cooking. Cups and plates and bowls end up in the cabinets on the right of the sink, and everything else is devoted to cooking bowls and pots and canned goods. There's even a pantry hidden away beside the refrigerator, and it feels... right to see Cas bent over with his head inside, rearranging the containers of salt and flour and potatoes the way he wants them.

They pick Sam up not long after that and go for an early dinner at the diner they ate at yesterday. Their waitress recognizes them and they even talk for a little bit - get a scope on the town from someone who's been there forever. Sam watches her go and Dean cocks an eyebrow at him. It'd be, well. It'd be cool to see Sam happy again. Even if it's just a temporary girlfriend - though Sam's been a date-to-marry (or date-to-...whatever he'd done with Ruby) type for as long as Dean can remember. Didn't date in middle school because it was too temporary. Didn't date in high school because it was temporary then whether he wanted it or not.

Still. There are a lot of fish in this town, and a lot more in the rest of the US (and tons on the internet. Dear god the internet.) Sam will find somebody when he feels stable and it'll be good, hopefully.

When they make it home, Cas and Sam dig into some books Sam brought home, and Dean disappears into the bedroom to make the bed up with the new sheets. They're soft and they're a shade of brown that is basically a glorified tan. They're fine enough that Dean can pretend he's lying in the sand if he really, really wants to. He thinks Cas will like them, and like the pillows too, especially when he gives the meaning behind him.

He spends a lot longer in there than he had intended. It's nine pm and he feels a little bit exhausted (it's been a long day. shopping is_ hard_.) He managed to muster up the will to change and brush his teeth again, but making it out into the living room is entirely too much trouble. He sends Sam an incredibly lazy "goodnight bro" text just so he knows Dean hasn't fallen off the face of the planet and stretches out on his new sheets, new comforter folded over at the bottom of the bed.

Cas wanders in not too long after; Dean is drifting and just thinking (which is something he avoids usually, since it leads to epiphanies like last night - though if it leads to more of those, it could be great). He goes straight to the bathroom and prepares like he's heading into battle, or like it's a ritual - like sleeping is some great enemy to be overcome with the right attire and minty breath. Dean watches the bathroom door with bated breath until Cas comes out. There's dim light from the moon coming through the window, and Cas is kind of pretty in it. Not girl-pretty... but Cas-pretty. He was genderless once. Dean can make up words for him.

Cas makes it to the bed and sits down before he really realizes something is up. Dean thinks he might not have noticed too much about the bedding in the first place, but it's a big deal to him.

"Hey," Dean says, and the silence isn't really there anymore, it's diffused to some other part of the house.

"Dean." Cas rubs a hand across the sheets. "Did you get these today? I would have noticed."

"I got them this morning. I ... I woke up with an epiphany, man, and you can't just start a relationship in someone else's sheets." Cas looks a little dumbstruck and Dean never imagined you could really have your heart in your throat, but he bets he could open his mouth and poke his own cardiac organ if he wanted to.

"A relationship?"

"Yeah, dude. You, me, intimacy and everything."

"You don't do intimacy, Dean. I'm pretty sure you told me it was a rule once."

"Maybe, yeah. But stuff's changed, man. And I want to be intimate with you."

Cas smiles, and turns. Dean can't really see the details in his face anymore, mostly because Cas himself is blocking the light, but that's alright. And if the sheets are a little rumpled in the morning, well. Dean can fix them when he and Cas untangle.


End file.
